Reborn
by MysticSkies
Summary: 6th year, from everyone's point of view. Rating will go up. Please R&R. There will be a sequal...eventually.
1. The Elders

I claim copyright to anything that J. K. Rowling didn't make up. I'll give you the right to use stuff I made up though, if you e-mail me at Elrusmimac@aol.com and find out how. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
Reborn  
I. The Elders  
  
The Elders stood before the Shadow. Their eyes gleamed in the night like shards of black glass, and their cloaks swished in the little spirals of air caused by the uncomfortable rustling of their crow-black wings. The nephilim were not eager to speak of such delicate matters when alliances that should have been strong were weak as winter's sun.  
  
The Shadow smiled, his thin, pale figure wreathed in darkness, and began. "Welcome, my council of Elders, who I hope I may call friends," he paused, and smiled again. He seemed sincere, but the nephilim were in no mood for friendship.  
  
The Shadow continued, none the less. "You have all, I suppose, expected me to call you together for some time now about the issue we are gathered here now to discuss. I speak, of course, of your future leader, Rakiri. As you all know, and I hope you all accept, I cannot allow her to rule as she is." He shook his head slowly; "she will bring death and destruction upon the world with her sympathy for a single human." The smile was gone from the Shadow's lips, and he gazed as if into the distant future.  
  
Matarek, the nephilim's leader, broke the brief silence. "Then what do you suggest we do, my lord?" he sneered with mock respect. "Shall we go leaderless or accept you as our lord and master?" Matarek's eyes flashed with distrust.  
  
The Shadow was truly taken aback as he scanned the ranks of the elders of the nephilim. He searched for support, but found none. The nephilim's faces were all mirrors of Matarek's, mixed with varying degrees of hatred. The Shadow had heard of their discontent, but he had discounted the stories of impending rebellion. Apparently, this had been a mistake. Perhaps Rakiri at least remained faithful, although this did not seem likely.  
  
"I do not mean to deprive you of your future leader," the shadow said softly, trying to reassure the rebellious nephilim. "Perhaps if she knew what it meant to be human-"  
  
"To be human!" interjected Matarek loudly. "You aren't suggesting we make her a changeling? That would be worse than to follow you alone!"  
  
"Yes, Matarek." The Shadow's voice was soft as silk, cold as ice, and filled with every shred of power he possessed. "That is exactly what I mean. But you are wrong. I make no suggestions. That is what must happen, and so it will come to be, in time." His eyes glinted with warning momentarily.  
  
Matarek made as if to leave, and the rest of the council moved to follow him, but the Shadow held up his hand.  
  
"Do not turn you backs on me Matarek, Elders. I will always command you, with or without a leader." The Shadows eyes were filled suddenly with a flickering light that had nothing to do with the fading lights of the night's sky.  
  
"We will be commanded by no one!" hissed Matarek over his shoulder as he continued.  
  
"Then you leave me with no choice but to punish you for your arrogance," replied the Shadow with a note of regret in his voice.  
  
"Punish us? How?" Matarek sneered as he turned, laughing openly. "We are your army. You can do nothing to us." He turned and strode away, the rest of the nephilim following behind.  
  
"So be it." whispered the Shadow. And the Great War began. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------- Here is the little commentary for all the people who get bored at the beginning of the chapter. There will always be one, but you don't have to read it to understand the story. In fact, it leaves out a lot of crucial information.  
  
Basically what happens here is that the Shadow gets mad at the Elders of the nephilim and so they walk away. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------- 


	2. Death and Dawning

II. Death and Dawning  
  
Rakiri was dying. She knew she was dying, although she did not know why. For that matter, she did not know how she was dying, and when she would die. She would have liked to find out, although she knew she did not have enough time.  
  
Already the sun stained the horizon blood red. As the light spread like spilt blood, Rakiri realized this was a truly glorious way to die. The impenetrable stone wall stood at her back, and the sea stretched unbroken before her in all directions before her. The sea breeze ruffled the edge of her cloak, and she was framed in fading starlight. But all these feelings and the panoramic view were only faded memories. She had not experienced them for millennia.  
  
Rakiri winced as she shifted and her old was wounds gave a pang as if they were fresh. Her thoughts turned bitterly to the new generation, those who had never fought in the Great War, and seen the destruction caused by the anger of the Shadow.  
  
The new generation loved to torture and did the Ministry's bidding happily. They did not see the walls; the boundaries set by the Ministry. Even though the Great War had been for freedom, the new generation enjoyed captivity.  
  
Blood red light had stained most of the sky now, and spilled onto the water. The memories of two shifting red seas filled her thoughts. One had been at the end of the Great War. The nephilim had stood, defeated but still proud, awaiting the final onslaught of their foe. Then the Shadow had come, stripped them of their flight, leader, and human senses, and left them to live as exiles.  
  
Matarek had been a great leader, but he was long gone. She was meant to be the new leader, but the Shadow's curse proved true. Rakiri could no more lead than fly off into the sunrise. The nephilim were left in anarchy with no way out.  
  
The bloody light spilled onto the rocky shore where Rakiri waited. Before the dawn reached the stone prison at Rakiri's back, she was dead, leaving only a ragged cloak strewn upon the rocks.  
  
Far away, on the mainland, Celesti Ellaire was giving birth to her only child, a daughter. Her husband, Alahand, a wizard with a strong build, stood over her anxiously, looking around occasionally as if searching for some unseen danger. Celesti and Alahand had known for a long time that their child would be a girl, and had already named her Ravenna.  
  
But something the young couple did not know if, and could probably never understand was happening. At the time of quickening, when a new soul should have been bestowed upon the child, it was suddenly replaced with one so ancient, it could never have been mistaken for that of a newborn child by any that could have seen it.  
  
Before the soul was chained completely to the child's mind, it had time for a single realization. It was a changeling. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------- So, here's the little cheat-sheet summary again:  
  
Rakiri dies, Ravenna is born, and guess what? She's a changeling! Oh boy. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------- 


	3. Shroud and Shadow

III. Shroud and Shadow  
  
Sirius Black stood, watching the gray waters of the river Styx. The silence of the flat gray landscape was only emphasized by the constant, misting rain. Even the river swirled on silently. Many other people passed by him, but they ignored him, and he could not follow them. As nothing else presented itself, he went over the final events of his life, losing track of plenty of the details.  
  
He had joined a group of wizards and witches who were trying, rather desperately, to prevent the theft of some bit of information. There had been a battle, and he had fallen through a strange black shroud. Then suddenly, he had been in a crowd of strangers, or rather, what was left of them.  
  
Those people. They were eerie, surreal. Each individually tried to contact him, to make themselves and their stories know to him. But their hands passed through him without sensation, and, like the river, they were completely mute. 


End file.
